


Bred Like a War Hound

by Wristic



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Murder, Enemies to Friends, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wristic/pseuds/Wristic
Summary: Ecbert's castle has just been seized, the vikings celebrate and rejoice until Helga brings a prisoner from the dungeons up and claims she is also her daughter but of a different kind to Tanaruz, this one simply needs her, and that is enough for Helga. The prisoner, Sileas MacKellaig, a Pict Clans-woman from the north finds the whole thing quite refreshing, relaxing a bit too much as she refills from weeks in a cell, accidentally infuriating Ivar with her evaluation of their "win".





	1. On a Few Words

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as an anonymous request on Tumblr that went way out of hand. So bless the Anon who asked, " Ragnarssons Imagine where helga adopt a celtic girl that catches the eyes of the ragnarsson brothers with her wild personality, fiery appearance and odd gods and language. Plus Floki is suspicious of her cause she allows Helga to mother her." and then I just wrote a whole diddly darn story around what was suppose to be a one shot.

When Floki had told her they had buildings made entirely of stones, reaching high and wide like small mountains, Helga thought he had been exaggerating. How did the stones stay together under such weight? How long would it have taken? How many people? Yet she’d been up multiple floors, weaving in and out of rooms like a maze, and now she was walking into the underground, into a dungeon and she held a morbid curiosity on what she would find down there.

Tanaruz had gone stiff, looking back and wanting to leave but Helga smiled and tugged her down. She didn’t want to go down there alone, not because she was scared but because Helga wanted to show Tarnaruz she could trust her.

It was hard to breath, a mix of water and smoke and something awful in the air feeling like the lungs were filling up with every inhale. Very few torches were lit to reveal the small cells that had more chains than beds, no windows and no place to do business. From one cell to the next it was empty, maybe a sign of a benevolent kingdom but in this moment a boring one.

About to give up Helga sighed when Tanaruz suddenly halted and stepped away. She looked scared but much to Helga’s disappointment she always looked scared. The only thing different was now she was actively hiding beside Helga. Following her gaze deeper into the cell there was someone who would have been utterly blended in the shadows. If not for the kinky, braided and silver beaded black hair sparking of torches. The person sat cross legged on the floor, staring down into their chained hands as the mess of long matted bangs covered their face, not giving any heed to the soft patters that stopped before their cell.

While she knew very little Saxon, Helga tried to get their attention. It didn’t work, the prisoner seeming to be meditating instead of acknowledging any of their surroundings. Looking about she asked Tanaruz to stay, walking back up the very slim hall and plucking the keys from the wall. Returning, Tanaruz was steps away, seeming to prepare to run away when Helga jingled the keys for a reaction, still garnering none.

She just wanted to see the person’s face, maybe learn their story if she could. They were in a warriors leathers, studded and covered in different shades of muck. It only curioused Helga more having thought there was suppose to be no war in Brittany. Even though her heart crawled up her throat, Helga inserted the lock, twisting it. The iron bars screamed mercilessly as she pushed it opened, and still the prisoner wouldn’t budge.

Taking very trepid steps, she crouched down a decent foot in front of the woman’s knees, seeing the feminine shape of her body and face now that the shadows bent out of the way. Again she tried to whisper for her attention and was gifted with nothing.

Glancing down at the chained wrists, Helga felt a touch brave and hesitantly reached out to take one of few silver beads that littered her hair. Turning it over to admire the beauty of the carved and coiled decorations in her hand. The dim firelight revealed the woman’s hair was not black or a dark brown, but the deepest red she’d ever seen. The braid was a line of blood down her hand and wrist that spread in curled strands beyond a small tie of twine.

Helga motioned the braid and the bead complementing the two. Feeling a tad more confident the woman was truly still, she experimented in brushing away the long tresses that covered her face, seeming covered in ash and mud.

She kept brushing aside the matted strands of hair, soon becoming comfortable enough to touch her sullen face. Helga bent to look into her eyes, far far away alone in a pale green place. In one last brush Helga cupped her cheek, feeling how cold it had become under the dry mud that flaked off.

Slowly, the woman’s brow began to knit, her eyes drifting closed and leaning into the simple touch as her spirit came gently into the living world. Brushing more of her untamed hair with the other hand Helga smiled as the woman edged just slightly forward. The more Helga smiled and cooed to her the more she caved into her arms. A release of tension Helga hadn’t known been wound up so tightly around her chest burst and had her nearly in tears, feeling like she was breathing for the first time in years.

This woman needed her, wanted her comfort and her love, _someone wanted her love_ . Helga reassured her she had much to give, that the woman would be very happy she promised. Despite hands chained tightly together, the woman lifted them like she wanted to embrace Helga back, settling on grabbing the stomach of her dress and pulling her closer, whispering the word, near sobbing as it came, “ _Mathair_.”

 

* * *

  

Floki had run through and out of the castle, having asked everyone for Helga or Tanaruz since the song of another God whispered to him, scared him, _warned him_. She was nowhere to be found, the terror growing him cold enough to cry if he couldn’t find her soon.

Finally a hard hand fell on his shoulder, Bjorn looking pensive at him, hesitant. “She came from the castle and is now at the feast…” While Floki could weep to hear the news, Bjorn's eyes told him something was amiss. “She… found something.”

Not asking further, clearly this being something he needed to see for himself, Floki charged back into the castle square. As soon as he reached the open feast his eyes were immediately drawn to Helga, or more accurately, the woman beside her.

She was taller than Helga, shoulders a touch broader with muscle. A warrior's muscle, a warriors uniform, and a warriors paint decorating her face into a haunting gaze. It was a dyed blue mud, three long strokes down her face starting from the line of her deep red hair once probably braided immaculately now a matted mess of dirt and weeks of unwash. One line was down her nose to her chin, the other two down her ghostly pale eyes to her jaw. Between them was ash and what he could recognize as dried blood. Helga did not hold her hand or her wrist, but the chain link between the woman’s hands.

He watched with a twisting stomach as Helga let go of the cuffs and smiled when the woman grabbed a stray cup on a table and began drinking, talking to the warrior as if she could understand.

Charging up in a fast walk, Helga didn't take any heed of his urgency and smiled brightly, “Floki! Come, meet Sileas!”

He came to a near skidding stop when the woman turned to look at him, a demon’s look about her mean gaze that made him want to just kill her and pull Helga away. “Helga! This woman has killed men-”

“Saxon’s.” She chimed with a shrugged, “I promise she only looks mean.” Helga then proceeded to hug the woman whose brow jumped to her stolen cup in worry it would spill. “See, she won’t hurt us! She is our daughter!”

A flood of embarrassment came to Floki, slowly rolling back his eyes away from the denizens of people watching the scene, at first because of the strange prisoner, now in Helga’s bold claim, and in between it all the woman leaned a hip against the table and began eating off someone's plate. Looking back to Helga he leaned into her face whispering in agony for his wife having lost her mind in grief for their deceased child. “Helga please, you adopt stray cats and dogs when you are lonely, not people. We have Tanaruz and she hates us both! The girl wants nothing but to run away back to the home we stole her from, what makes you think this warrioress will not kill us both in our sleep?!”

They both looked to her, utterly docile as she waved her empty cup to the person nearest the pitcher, who snickered and refilled it for her.

Smiling wide with tears in her eyes Helga told him, “Floki, she called me mother.”

He sighed, not wanting to believe her delusion, “Helga, no-”

“She did, she called me mother! She _needs_ me Floki! She wants us to take care of her, she called me mother!”

Looking to Sileas, she was glancing about at the people around her so intent on staring, not a spot of heartfelt emotion Helga claimed she had. His eyes than drifted to Tanaruz who seemed as frightened of the woman as she had been frightened of Ivar, standing paces away and tense like Floki thought she’d grown exhausted of being by now.

Helga grabbed Sileas’ arm and shook it for her attention, pointing to Floki to say hi. When she looked to him with those pale green eyes Floki had to admit, the mean look did seem like it was merely her face, now looking bored as his fear for Helga’s life ebbed. She lifted her hands still chained, one particularly outstretched. Floki pulled his up and she clasped it tight on his wrist, shaking it, speaking in the Saxon language but not quite. “Sileas MacKellaig. Ya the heathens the Anglo-fops was all in a tizzy ‘bout? Glad ta see they had reason ta be.”

Crinkling his brow, he glanced concerned at Helga than back, questioning in the only language he knew of the land. “She says you called her mother.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought she was ma mother.”

Floki shifted, crossing his arms defensively. “Thought? You do not think so anymore?”

She shrugged, tossing a piece of meat into her mouth, “They be braggin’ all day yesterday how they was gonna torture me today. Made sense to see the ghost of ma dead mother before I went, righ’?”

Still feeling terse, Floki prodded, “What do you plan on doing now?”

An incredibly vague grunt escaped Sileas that he assumed was along the lines of ‘I don’t know’ and he sighed, turning back to his wife. “Helga, it was a misunderstanding-”

Because she didn’t understand all the words or just how indifferent Sileas had been, Helga was in denial. “No no, she needs us! The gods gifted her to us- she-” Floki huffed and started dragging Helga out from the view of everyone, leaving Sileas with Tanaruz.

The feast was utterly silent now, a whole open area filled to the brim with people and no one said a word. Sileas glanced to the timid and short Tanaruz who stepped away and Sileas couldn’t help but scoff. After the weeks of bragging Saxon’s spewing hatred and threats safely behind bars, it tickled to have someone afraid of her again, even if it was a small girl.

The big quiet one that first caught Helga entering the grounds snuck up, cup in his hand and devoid of his long cloak of furs. Sileas took a lazy look up him, finding he should go without a cloak more often if he really wanted to impress the ladies of Brittany. Bjorn grew flattered by the heady gaze, looking into his cup with a smirk, pointing out, “You do not seem like the others.”

“Saxon? Nah, I’m of the Clans up north. Gotta bit lost on ma way home. What ‘bout all a ya? Got somethin’ personal with the Mercians?”

Another voice came from the other side, equally tall and leaner, a playful light in his blue eyes and smile, “Revenge. They killed our father.”

Sileas raised her brow at the massive amount of people around her. “Awfully big war for one person.”

“A king.” He said proudly.

“A person.” She corrected with a smirk. Glancing around she drolled, “I dun see many bodies litterin’ the streets… ya so sure ya should be celebraten? Doesna look like much of a win ta me.”

Bjorn nodded, again these men seemed terribly proud of themselves. “They ran before we arrived.”

“So ya didna kill’em all?”

“We have their king.”

Her smirk grew sharper. “But not their kingdom.” They remained silent as she chuckled and refilled her drink. “Ah, ya boys have much to learn of this land. Ya didna win this day, ya only started sometin’ bigger.”

Taking a few steps to examine all the curious faces, Ivar called from his perch at the table, trying his hardest to look pleasant but the insult of her claim had his chest burning in offence and his eyes piercing in hate. “Perhaps you would like to teach us then? We have the king and his home, even his land. Yet you say we have not won. Why?”

Sileas chuckled, further infuriating him but having everyone else a tad disquieted. “Saxon politics is a nasty nest a snakes all tryin’na strangle each other very politely. But now ya cut the head off one. It’s blood frightens the others into competition, straightens them out toward a common enemy, one snake with many heads and many fangs. They’ll come a swarmin’ in no time. Furious ya distracted their little illusions of peace. But ah,” She raised her cup to him, “At least ya got one king.”

“ _Two_ ,” Ivar ground out. “We ripped the lungs from King Aelle, like we will from Ecbert.”

With an impressed curl of her lip she agreed, “Brutalizin’ two men, canna think of a greater feat. Oh hang on,” She smiled up at him, “King Ecbert took Mercia a while back with nothin’ but a few words. He got your father killed and that little northerner village annihilated on a few words. Now what are ya really so capable of ta think he canna kill your army as well, even after he’s dead, on the few words he no doubt shared with his sons who escaped?”

“I could have you killed, keep testing me.” He growled, Hvitserk snickering beside him and Sigurd looking between them in a deep contemplation.

“She’s right.” He finally spoke in Norse, not sure he wanted her in the coming conversation as he got plenty of dirty glares from his brothers. “We are killing one man not the army or taking the people. All it takes is one more man to step up and lead a thousand. We have not won anything today. Thinking about it in that context we did not even win Northumbria. We didn’t take the Queen or his children. Our people do not own or work these lands, the Saxons still do.”

“Oh Sigurd the wise suddenly so full of wisdom!” Ivar mocked. “We came to conquer! Not to mill around on the lands like docile little sheep!”

Between them it was clear a few may have thought otherwise, but were not brave enough to say it until Sigurd. “Why not? It’s healthy land.”

“It’s what father wanted.” Bjorn added almost in a whisper.

“It _would_ be a waste to at least not consider it.” Ubbe mumbled.

Ivar smacked the back of his hand on Hvitserk’s shoulder making him snicker as he motioned to them in a fit, “Can you believe this?!”

Sigurd rolled his eyes, “Ivar, look at this food. Most of it isn’t ours, it came from _their kitchens_ and stock.”

“Their kitchens are _our spoils_! Of course we’re not wasting our resources!”

Bjorn motioned to everyone around them, “No one is saying we will not still fight. There is plenty left in the world to raid for those who still need glory to their names.”

“Like you Bjorn? The Mediterranean was not all that everyone had wished for I heard.” Ivar snapped, diverging the taunt back to the eldest who huffed his great chest in stewing rage.

Sileas' hoot sliced through the tension. “The Saxon’s may be a pit of snakes but at least they know how ta smile. You’re all a pit of dogs yippin’ and snappin’ at each others throats. Not good, not good.” she tsked.

Ivar clasped his axe and threw it, it whipping through the air and thudding at her feet, finally getting a reaction from her other than lip. “Speak when spoken to _prisoner_.”

They glared at one another, a small hand on her shoulder the only thing to bring Sileas out of the sudden bad blood. It was Helga, looking terribly concerned and pulling her away from the scene, which she followed obediently, not bothering to look back.

 

* * *

  

It felt strange having a real bed again, to be clean again. No straw and burlap, no rats nibbling on her toes and ears. The fur tickled her cheeks and warmed her straight to the bones, a sigh to feel so normal again escaping in a satisfied hum. The leathers and chains and mud chaffed something awful leaving red marks and splotches on her freckled skin, to be washed of them made her feel so light if not sore, a good sore. It meant she was free.

Despite being a grown woman, once Floki had unlocked the chains with a pick Helga insisted on helping Sileas clean herself, scrubbing away the caked on war paint, ash, blood, and grim from the cell. Unbraiding her hair and setting aside the silver beads, enjoying removing the many thin iron rings decorating up her ear and then trying them on herself, laughing when Sileas showed Helga she could also push one closed on the ridge of her nose.

Floki watched from the tent with a scrutinizing eye, Tanaruz by his side in curiosity as the remnants of the warrior was being washed away in the river, revealing a youthful pale face with a few scars on her cheek, chin and forehead, one thick and gnarled where her bottom lip had once been split wide open.

The air was crisp, her skin was clean, her stomach full, the bed warm, yes, Sileas was feeling good.

However it did not stop her ear from twitching and her heart racing painfully to hear the sound of something dragging along the floor while everyone else slept. It confused her, not recognizing what would cause it when as soon as she began to turn over her shoulder a hand reached to clasp her mouth.

The adrenaline spiked into a furious instinct, jabbing her elbow in the chest of the body responsible and fighting to keep them at bay, only for a frenzy of strength and hands to fight for a chance to claw at her throat. A weight pulled up on her body as she held him out of reach, the assailant pushing down harder and harder till the firelight from outside shown against his features.

The boy Ivar obviously had a temper, threatening her the way he did on a tease, but to come in and finish the job; _for what?_ They hadn’t spoken since then. Ripping his wrist from her grip, his great hand clamped around her throat like lightning, squeezing so hard her eyes bulged and her chest choked in panic.

Instead of stopping him her legs came up and her hand drifted under the pillow. Digging both feet into the ground she rolled them, finding it surprisingly easy and slipped a stolen blade from the plush cloth. Only when he felt the bite of it digging up under his jaw did the grip begin to loosen enough for her to cough and wheeze, her strength not wavering in the slightest. “Let go a’ me.”

Ivar was smiling up at her through his heavy breathing, his calloused fingers very slowly drifting from her skin, red and already darkened a shade from his attempt.

“Now what’s this ‘bout?

“You embarrassed me.” he growled.

Sileas scoffed. “I’ve done a lot worse ta worser men. Be that petty and ya’ll be killin’ every woman with a sense of humor that comes your way. What’s the real reason?” He didn’t answer, glaring up at her and she gawked, “ _That’s_ the real reason?! Are ya mad-stupid boy?!”

“Do not call me boy-”

“Ya jus’ tried ta kill me for showin’ ya wise! I’ll call ya ma little princess if I wanna!”

“You _embarrassed_ me! They followed me and they cheered for me, and you embarrassed me!”

Cocking her head to the side Sileas lifted the blade, using it to point to him like it couldn’t slice him open. “Ya seem ta of grown in a very privileged life, nary a real struggle to contend with if ya boil so easy.” Ivar’s jaw rolled in subdued fury under her blade, but her eyes set hard. “Because if ya’d grown knowin’ nothin’ but war, ya wouldna’ be so thirsty for death.”

“I am a son of Ragnar Lothbrok.” Ivar’s voice was guttural, rumbling beneath her hand and quaked her legs that held him down. “The blood of Odin is in my veins as it was in his. I _am_ war. I came here with one purpose and that was to bring death, and I’ll bring it for a thousand years and a thousand more.”

Sileas shook her head in pity, the ruby tresses swinging like on a gentle breeze. “Ya think you’re immortal boy?” Despite the flash of fury, she pulled back, tossing the knife back on her pillow, catching him of guard. “Tis childish to its last word. You’ll die one day I promise ya. And it will be a very cold and lonely day.”

In a sigh the sadness broke and she patted his chest, lifting from him back to her bed. “But I’ve no love for the Saxon’s same as ya, no need for us to be enemies, ya hear?”

He sat up on his elbow and snarled, “I do not like you.” making her laugh.

“And I dun like ya much either but if we go ‘bout killin’ everyone that ruffled our feathers there’d be no one left ta make the children.” She clicked her cheek at him, and motioned to the swaying curtain behind him. “Out with ya boy, you’ve already caused enough commotion ta wake the chickens.”

He was about to say something else when the familiar voice of his mentor reached him, “ _Ivar_.”

Looking beside him, Helga and Tanaruz were huddled behind Floki, Helga looking shaken while Tanaruz kept her sobbing to a minimum. But what hurt more than their fears was the disappointment in Floki, the hint of exhaustion in his tight lips.

Again she was embarrassing him. Again everyone else settled on _her_ side and not his. The anger was painful, shaking him because he didn’t want to just turn away again and let her win, not even a real last word to sway them back to him. Tomorrow Bjorn and Sigurd would leave, and Ivar could see it in Ubbe’s eyes he wanted to as well. One to the Mediterranean, one back to Northumbria, and one dreaming of home. Over half his brothers leaving his side on her few words.

Ivar pulled himself forward. Where Tanaruz whimpered Sileas gave an odd glance to his legs, a clear curiosity on why he wasn’t using them. “After I burn all of Brittany to the ground and turn the mud red in their blood, I am going to head north. I am going to rip apart your clans and enslave your women and children. And you’ll help me do it. _You’ll watch me do it._ And then you can tell me if there is a need for us to be enemies.”

Sileas let him have his threat, watching him duck out of the gaze of the three huddled in a corner because of him and drag himself out. She waited until Helga was upon her to look away from the exit, the woman gentle to examine the forming bruise on her neck, saying words Sileas didn’t understand while she fretted.

Sileas didn't fight it, let Helga panic and let her rub on ointments to cool the coming swelling despite how tired she was. Helga really did remind her of her mother, not just in appearance but that she was a healer. The constant warring between clans and the clans between Saxons and somehow her mother had survived being so gentle, gentle where she couldn’t be anymore. It was admirable and Sileas couldn’t help the small smile to the woman when she was done.


	2. Bitter in the Voice

The second Muireall came upon the open training ground she gawked and shouted from behind the fence, “Look at her! She’s bleedin’!

“Bleedin’!?” Bhatair roared, spinning the blade in a taunt, “That’s not blood! That’s the fire of Belenus spillin’ from her skin! The liquor of life untamed from her body! Those scraps and bruises a gift from the great Andraste, the marks of _victory_!”

Sileas, small and gangly at six gave a hard roar in the excitement, one her father returned and she returned again before her mother picked her up making a tiny giggle escape. “Oh Bhatair look at her! Some a’ these won’t heal for weeks!”

Bhatair sighed as he swung his sword loosely at his feet with a whine, his two teenage sons snickered from the fence, “She’s _fine~_ , love.”

“I’m fine Mama!” Sileas chimed, scrunching her face as Muireall tried scraping the mud and small beads of blood from her tiny face, Muireall snapping a terse look at her husband to discover more bruises under the mud.

Bhatair rolled his eyes before bending down to kiss Muireall’s forehead, pale blonde hair flowing as free as her fury. “I taught her sisters all the same,” He tapped under Sileas’ chin, pulling a proud half toothless smile from her. “It’s no one’s fault she’s got a fighter’s spirit in her!”

“Is it a fighter's spirit or a pigs I wonder, bathed in mud as she is. How did ya come ta be such a tom!?” Muireall pinched at Sileas’ neck and chest making her huddle into herself and laugh.

Bhatair stole Sileas back, putting her behind his deep red hair on his shoulders. “I’ll get her cleaned and have her back by supper.” Again he kissed the forehead of an entirely unamused Muireall. “How ‘bout it eh?” He skipped making Sileas bounce and laugh, gasping for his hands on her ankles so she wouldn’t fall. “Ya wanna help me and the boys catch some game? Some rabbit? No-no, pheasant.”

“I wanna catch a wolf!” Her father and brothers gave a low hoot making her laugh, mocking such a robust wager.

 

* * *

  

It was rough getting the leathers clean again, the task feeling impossible when high noon rolled around and Sileas was still finding stains. Growing frustrated, mumbling how she didn’t have all the right ingredients to clean it she gave up and started hanging them up to dry, glad she wasn’t stepping on anyone’s tails as she used the same ropes as everyone else.

As she shook out a cotton tunic a band of warrior woman caught her eye a good distance down the bank. They surrounded a girl no more than fourteen standing at stance with a sword in one hand and shield in the other, an older mentor at her opposite calling in an angry taunt the longer the girl hesitated. In a dash the girl charged only to have her shield bashed to the side and kicked hard in the stomach to the ground. While it was a sad display, no one mocked her, the mentor looming as she explained what should have happened and ordered her to try again. The scene pulled a smile from Sileas.

“Sileas…” She looked back to find a familiar face from yesterday, the one next to Ivar who remained relatively quiet in the heated debate. With a smirk he nodded, “Pretty name.”

She gathered quick he was a flirt and turned her smile away. “Ya well, ma mother ran out of grandparents ta name her children with so settled on namin’ me after her favorite hound growin’ up.” Sileas smiled back at him to see the slight blushing embarrassment she was hoping for. Something caught his eye and he shifted feet, taking a step back and looking over his shoulder.

“I wanted to apologize.” She raised a brow, withholding the question on his subtle yet odd behavior. “My brother has a bit of a temper.”

Sileas scoffed knowing exactly which one he was talking about. “Are ya talkin about him throwin the axe or him tryin’a kill me in ma sleep last night?” Hvitserk glanced around, his mouth pulling back to its ends with a hiss like this was a minor slip up. “Ya dun seem too surprised by that.”

Ignoring what she said Hvitserk pulled back to the original subject. “The things you said yesterday, it sounded like you know very well how this land wages war.”

Sileas paused in straightening out her clothes, her humor dropping with her hands as she admitted, “Aye. Ya lookin’ for advice?” He shrugged with a humble grin. “Ya might wanna talk ta ya brother about that first. Having ta defend my life against his pride on every word I say, as ya can imagine, sounds awfully weary.”

Taking a trepid breath he admitted, “He asked me to come here.”

Sileas looked to him, mauling over the statement before breaking into a snicker. “I think ya know what I’m gonna demand.”

It was clearly an exhausting endeavor for Hvitserk, near rolling his eyes. “He says he has nothing to apologize for.”

She gave him a knowing look, the only thing she had to do for Hvitserk to cave, at least flashing her a smile, “I will go talk to him. But in the meantime please consider it,” that mischievous air came about him again, his blue eyes glittering as he said, “We would _greatly_ enjoy your company.”

Sileas watched him go, a half smile stuck on her as she continued shaking out and hanging her leathers.

 

* * *

 

He was easy enough to find, one of the larger more gilded tents, a tent to fit a king, to fit a couple of families despite having it all to himself. As she came upon it she rolled her eyes muttering, " _Banfhlath_."

Walking in the open curtains all attention shifted and dropped, Sileas standing with hands on her hips and chin held high. “Out. All a ya. I got words ta say.”

The last words were punctured by looking to Ivar sitting behind a table and map with small wooden statues like chess pieces. The soldiers and brothers looked among themselves, giving an uneasy look to Ivar who had yet to take his eyes off her, falling into a sneer and shake of his head.

Not liking the stagnant air, she shouted and deep authority. “ _Out_ ! _Now_!”

They startled to it, looking between themselves one last time before leaving in a snicker, like children ratting out the naughty child. Ivar seemed to force himself to relax, glaring at her very casually until the tent was empty, unbeknownst to her, save for Floki skulking in the shadows by the exit.

“Nothin’ to apologize for?” a corner of his lip turned up. “Ya askin’ for _my_ help conquering _my_ land, the least ya can do is fuckin’ apologize for tryin’ ta kill me. _Twice_ if I wanna be technical, and I do.”

“I had my reasons-”

“And they’re as good as pig shite.”

The smirk slowly died, and with it came a dark glower. “You will not talk to me that way.”

“And ya’ll not try ta kill me and pretend like it’s square. I gave ya a night ta gather your wits yet they seem to keep shyin’ from ya.”

Ignoring Sileas he growled. “You can not talk to me that way, you are a slave-”

A fun little gleam took her eye, “Oh but I’m not am I? I’m wants-her-face’s daughter.” Both Floki and Ivar intensified their glare, Floki shifting uncomfortably. “And as far as I can tell, she’s a free woman.”

“Free woman or slave, I am still a Prince.”

Sileas rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Even if I wasn’t a Clan’s Chieftain that means nothin’ to me. My respect for titles only goes so far and so far you’ve shown me to be a delusional and ill-tempered prat. How you’re leadin’ this army is beyond me-”

“Because I've lead them to victory, _twice_. I am the leader because I am a good leader.” A sardonic air hit her, mumbling in a language he didn’t know. Lifting his nose at her he asked, almost prideful, “If you’re a Chieftain, what are you doing here? Why do you not go home to your clan?”

Sileas stiffened, holding herself tighter as she set a glare at him. Ivar examined her closely, making her feel unnerved to be under his silent inquisition.

“Something happened. You are not really a Chieftain any more are you?” She gulped hard and Ivar started to mock when her confidence melted away like sand into the ocean, “ _Oh~_ did you forget while you were sleeping so soundly in my people’s bed-”

“Ya wanted me ta help ya?” Having her throw up every wall and look at him with a stoic expression ready for business had his smile widened, agitating her when he sat back and triumphantly gesturing to his map. “Apologize.”

His strength dropped like a sack of potatoes, mouth slack and glare returning fast. His fingers tapped on his chair, waging a little war in his head before finally and as sarcastically as he could muster, “Fine. I am sorry you do not know when to shut your mouth.”

Sileas sauntered up to the map, grabbing a piece off of Wessex, the head of it’s sigils wyvern. Ivar sat a little straighter in interest, watching closely as she started moving it down the map toward him, until she suddenly stood back straight and hid the piece in her hand. “I’m sorry, I’m really gonna need a better apology than that.”

Given the huff in his chest she smirked imagining he probably wanted to scream now. Ivar didn’t look at her while he said it, a vicious and angry smile as he spoke, “I. Am. Sorry.”

“For what?”

“You got that out of me do not push my patients further!” He roared, making her snicker, but concede.

She tapped the piece down on the southern corner of the map. “East Anglia will be losin’ their king soon, if not already. Best demolish them now lest they ally with the Wessex boys. That’d make three armies all together.”

All emotional passion seeming to have slipped away entirely, Ivar now concentrated entirely on her words and pieces. “Three?”

She pointed to the large chunk of Mercia. “Ecbert may let them live separately but he ruled it all the same. No doubt seein’ his end, Ecbert would chose instead to send his sons and soldiers to regroup in Mercia. They are obligated to join. And Mercia is fat and rich. They are a force to recon on their own, now they have twice that from Wessex, they’ll have three times with East Anglia.”

Thinking hard his brow furrowed and he looked up at her, “What reason would East Anglia have to join? If they are not already allies and were not under Ecbert’s ruling?”

Sileas raised her finger, making sure this was a point he always kept in mind. “They all be enemies, and they all be allies. You’ve spooked them remember? Now knowin' men they’ll both be aloof about it at first, probably have a dick wavin’ contest before agreein’ ta the obvious choice. Ta push back a foreign invadin’ force together with an army that rivals yours.” Looking around at the map, she shrugged. “King Ecbert was a brilliant man, dead as he is now. His legacy will cause ya trouble.”

As she concentrated hard, remembering the numerous letters and news from travelers and spies, Ivar remarked, sounding like he was still distant in his thoughts. “For being in his dungeons, you seem like you admired Ecbert.”

“There’s a lot ta admire in an intelligent man.”

She missed how his eyes drifted up at the claim, the smirk that came to him before going back to the map. “Then what of possible allies for us? Could you enlist your clan?”

“My clan?” Sileas raised a brow to him, “That ya promised ta rape?”

He glared at her but a cruel half smile started to play. “Maybe if they help me, I will feel merciful.”

With an unimpressed grunt she stood back straight. “Why ya need allies from here anyway? Your army is more than enough don’t ya think?”

There was a mixed air about him, shifting in his seat, looking off into the sunlight with a softness in his eyes but his jaw taut. “A healthy portion of our army will be leaving. Some for home, others for the world.”

“Why don’t ya go too?” He snapped a glare she raised her hands defensively at. “Jus seems a bit odd ya still care so much is all. I remember hearin’ somthin’ ‘bout a revenge. If ya have it, why stay?”

Instead of relaxing, the glare seemed to extend to his every muscle as he sat forward and bared his teeth as he spoke. “Why do you want me to go South? You said your clans were North, makes sense you would lead me further away.”

Gaping at just how quickly he could lose his temper, she slowly shook her head, “My word ya’re one angry little boy!”

The chair whimpered under his suffocating grip that threatened to pull the arm right off. In a huff Ivar bottled it all up and threw his hard toward the exit. “Fine. I think I have all I need. _Leave_.”

She chuckled. “A’right. Try not to blow a vein while I’m gone.”

A skip to her step Sileas left, Floki not revealing himself until he saw her turn a corner back to the river.

“I do not trust her.” Ivar startled to find him there, eyeing where Sileas had left. “I was warned by… the gods. I do not trust why she lets Helga mother her or what she knows of war. She could be leading us into a trap.”

The room was utterly silent save for the people milling and chatting outside. Ivar looked between his map now with pieces moved and ready to corner kings and Floki. Sitting back his fingers lightly brushed his lips in thought. “She did say this place is prone to plots and betrayal, that we should expect it from all angles.” He grabbed a small statue and twirled it in thought, looking North. “For now she is an ally. We play nice but expect her to betray us as we will with any ally made in England.”

Floki looked to the bright exit. “Why would she help us Ivar? What motivation would she have?”

Ivar only shrugged, eyes set on his game. “Common enemy is the most common reason.” When he was met with silence he caught Floki shy his glare back away to the outside. “You really do not like her do you?”

“I was warned Ivar." Floki shook his head, feeling that chill all over again. "I heard a song and it chilled me to the bone. It was a song I should not have heard...”

Ivar thought on it, watching the concern in Floki so deeply rooted. “If it was a song, it might not have been a warning necessarily.” His voice drifted when Floki shot a snarl at him.

“Oh, so you know more about the Gods than I do now hm?”

Ivar chuckled. “I am just saying-”

“You smiled at her.” Taken back, Ivar quickly started to steel himself, put off by the accusing and raging look in Floki's face. “I saw it. Do not trust this charm Ivar. She walks through life so easy just like that..." Floki chewed on his cheek hard enough to ache, holding himself tight to hold back the fury of Athelstan's memory. "She said she was a Chieftain yet she stays here? In the center of an enemy army?”

“We’re not enemies yet-” The snicker that left Floki was bitter and Ivar couldn't help but be a little offended by his lack of faith. “I do not mean it like that, I am only saying… can we not just see what happens? Maybe the song was great and terrible but that may not be such a bad sign _for us_.”

“I have seen this before. Your father had his own Saxon pet he loved very dearly.” The offence flared up stronger, the frustration made worse by not being able to say anything back. Despite the context Ivar couldn't bring himself to defend he was not like his father, especially when he barely knew what Floki was talking about. Athelstan was a cursed name for both Floki and his mother, a face his brothers barely knew yet never held any grudge against. “Be careful Ivar, or she will bring you into madness as well.”

**Author's Note:**

> There are many idea's I haven't decided yet so the warnings and tags and relationships with change over time depending of where this goes. And by all means tell me what you're hoping to see to give me ideas on which direction to choose!


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